


Miscellany

by fanficology



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Gen, Genderswap, Multi, Prompt Fill, Swaplock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:15:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficology/pseuds/fanficology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In honor of Sherlolly Appreciation week, here some old one-shots and prompts.  Rating vary. Any stories that are considered adult in nature will be explicitly rated at the beginning of the chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction a.k.a Author's Notes

I’ve been writing Sherlock Fic for almost three years.

 

Most of the one shots and tumblr prompts that I have written over the years were posted to a tumblr that was later deleted due to stalking and harassment.  Which was a hard decision to make and something that I have occasionally regretted. 

 

In honor of Sherlolly Appreciation week, I’m going to start re-posting some of them here on AO3 as a collection.  (After Sherlolly week, I’ll put up some of my Jollock fics) I will also be posting some not before published works. 

 

Notes:

1) The majority of these are NOT S3 Compliant as they were written before its release.

2) Many of these stories are years old so they are not the same quality as my current writing.  Well, I like to think they are not of the same quality and I have improved.  Maybe I haven’t.

3) These are NOT beta-ed.  I’ve looked them over but I’m sure there are errors.

3b) Most of these were written quickly so weren’t extensively edited and thought out like some more current pieces.

4) Rating vary. The majority of these are very SFW but I will say in the beginning if they are of a more Mature or Explicit nature.

 

Please enjoy them!  For those who have been around awhile maybe one or two these will be vaguely familiar! 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill from the Sherlolly Kink Meme:
> 
> they did it for the lulz - Sherlock doesn't think it's funny.  
> Post-TRF, Sherlock asked Molly to look after John. They decide to meet regularly to chat and become very close friends in the process. After Sherlock's return, they still get together at least once a week.
> 
> One night, while bemoaning the fact that they are still single (thanks to Sherlock's constant 'interfering') they joke about getting together themselves as it would solve their mutual problem. For laughs and to see if there is any sexual chemistry between the two, John and Molly decide to snog.
> 
> Cue Sherlock walking in on them. Jealousy/Sherlock in denial about being jealous/ getting very competitive and determined to snog Molly better than John...or whatever.
> 
> I just want some Sherlock to see Molly in the arms of his bestfriend and realize that he needs to do something about these stupid feelings he's been ignoring.

Sherlock, Molly thought, was basically a highly selective human version of a magpie. He collected things (bison heads, skulls, coins, hotel key cards) and people (John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson) and hoarded them for all he’s worth.

 

Some time after his return it became apparent that he had decided to collect and hoard Molly, also.

 

To be fair there were some great benefits to being hoarded by Sherlock Holmes. One was never bored and a great many people owed him favors.  The rent on her flat was discounted by £200 a month for being an ‘upstanding tenant’ (though her landlord, while not cruel, was very exacting and sometimes unforgiving).

 

Cabs were easier to come by.

 

She could get theater tickets to all the newest shows on West End (and she unashamedly loved musicals, well maybe a little shamedly loved them).

 

Many restaurants gave her desserts if not whole meals ‘on the house.’

 

Yes, there were many benefits that she accrued by being part of Sherlock’s collection. But with the benefits came some drawbacks.

 

Being part of Sherlock’s collection meant the personal boundaries that Sherlock once respected were gone.  She would come home to find ‘experiments’ stored in her flat or that her cat had been shaved due to some case where Sherlock needed a pound of cat hair to test a theory and Molly you had a cat handy and there is no long lasting effect, why are you complaining?  She was expected to help out on cases beyond her capacity as a St. Bartholomew’s employee which meant she received texts from Sherlock at ever hour of the day even though, unlike Sherlock, she quite adored the time she spent unconscious

 

Worst of all, being part of Sherlock’s collection meant she never got laid. A girl has needs and while most of the time her fingers or her battery powered friends got the job done just fine occasionally she wanted to be pinned down (or ride, she wasn’t picky) by a bloke (a specific bloke really but Molly was a realist and was attempting to move on and just be content with Sherlock’s friendship.)

 

Sherlock was an excellent cock block.  Even worse is that most of the time she was positive it was not on purpose. She had hoped it was but he seemed so confounded as to why the male that was in her company had left that she was pretty sure it wasn’t on purpose.

 

That was one of the reasons she and John were drinking copious amounts of alcohol at a pub nearby 221B after Sherlock had ruined another of John’s fledging romances. Sherlock had intruded on one of Molly’s the night before so there was fresh material for them to grumble about.

 

Since Sherlock’s ‘death’ Molly and John had gone from acquaintances to quite close friends. They went through a rough patch after Sherlock’s resurrection but it soon became apparent since they were both part of Sherlock’s collection and both had the dubious honor of being his flatmates (past flatmates in Molly’s case, thank the Lord, she didn’t miss him at all. Well, maybe a little) that they found a unique outlet for their Sherlock frustrations in each other. They found someone who cared deeply for him, was frustrated by him, understood him (somewhat), wanted to punch or kick him, was loyal to him, and most importantly understood why the other stayed in contact with him.  (Though Molly suspected that once Sherlock decided to collect a person there was nothing that person could do to escape him.)

 

“Did I ever tell you about the time he interrupted my date with oh what’s his name?  Tom? Tim? Terry? Oh it doesn’t matter. Anyway, he interrupted my date because he needed me to do his make-up!” 

 

John laid his head on the table as he laughed. “Where was I in this?”

 

“No clue. But he was going undercover as a drag queen and he needed me to do his make up.  He was all dressed up in heels and a boa and a dress and that thing that you put on your head to give you more hairs?” Molly said, she had had a few to drink and words were starting to abandon her.

 

“A wig?”

 

“’Xactly! A wig!  He looked a fright.  Anyway he looks at my date and congratulates him on finally seeking help for his erectile dysfunction and drags a chair from another table and sits down so I can do up his face.”

 

She pauses for a second and takes a sip of her gin and tonic before declaring, “Sherlock is not a pretty woman.”

 

John chuckles at this before taking another sip of his pint.  “I ever tell you about Ming?”

 

“She the one with the spots?” Molly asked as she looked towards John, supporting her head with her hand. It had grown awfully heavy.

 

“Christ, yes.  They weren’t that bad, ya know.  Just one or two but she was a hippie no wear make up girl, which was definitely different for me.  All very much vegan and peace loving, quite the cliche.”

 

“She know you were a soldier?” Molly asked.

 

“Yeah, I think she thought she could cure me of like my bad aura or something. Not sure, I wasn’t exactly in it for the conversation,” John said as self satisfied smirk came across his face. Molly rolled his eyes as John continued on, “Anyway it’s the morning after and we’re at 221 about ready to start round two when Sherlock comes bursting through the door.  He pushes Ming off of me and drags me out the bed, I’m starkers by the way, shouting about how- stop laughing Molly!”

 

“He did not! He did not push oh God damn, John I –just” Molly blabbered trying to contain her laughs. How does one even react to that? “He did something like that to me you know, in public!”

 

“Was this the Ahmed guy?”

 

“Yes! We’re at a club and we’re quite enjoying ourselves.  Dancing to some horribly loud pop music both a little buzzed.  I’m in the middle of a snog with Ahmed and the next thing I know Sherlock has thrown me over his shoulder because he has to see a body right that minute. I got revenge though, I puked on his shoes.”

 

“He must’ve loved that.”

 

“To be honest, he was so wrapped in the case I’m not entirely sure he noticed.  Serves him right tossing me about after I’ve been drinking.”

 

They sat there in silence for a few moments contemplating their drinks and the peculiarity that was Sherlock Holmes. As they had been drinking the pub began to fill up with even more people, shifting the atmosphere to quiet talk to boisterous conversation. The impending football match did nothing to alter the trajectory of the pub’s atmosphere.

 

“Want to head back to 221B?  I think we have a couple fairy cakes that Mrs. Hudson made.”

 

“Seducing me with cake, Dr. Watson? It’ll work every time.” Molly said as she started to dig around in her purse to pay her tab.

 

“I got this one Molly,” John said as he waved the bartender over.

 

“Well, thank you.”

 

They fought their way out of the pub and staggered back to 221B.  Neither realized how much they had been drinking until they stepped out into the cool night.

 

It took John several tries to open the front door to 221 but he persevered and let them into the front hall.

 

“Do you ever think that we should get together?” John asked as he closed the door.  “It’d make sense.  We both know that Sherlock is a package deal and can tolerate him.”

 

Molly was quiet for a moment, “it would be more convenient for him.  He wouldn't have to track us both down when we’re on dates ‘cause we’d be together.”

 

“You’d stand up to him unlike my previous dates,” John paused for a second, “well more than my previous dates.”

 

“Still working on the standing up bits,” Molly said she started her way up the stairs to the flat. “Also, we both have a tendency to yell at inanimate objects.”

 

“Ah yes, Sherlock told me about your tendency to hurl abuse at the laboratory printer.  I assume he told you about the chip and pin machine debacle?”

 

“Nope, actually. I saw you scold a tea machine at Barts.”

 

“Bloody thing kept giving me decaf. Just proves our compatibility, in my mind.  You also probably won’t mind being kidnapped like Sarah did.”

 

“Well, I would mind but I probably couldn’t honestly blame you if I was kidnapped.”

 

“That’s true. Oh oh!” John cried as he turned around suddenly a manic grin plastered on his face, “I can blame you if I get kidnapped! That’d be a twist!”

 

Molly chuckled at that she joined John on the landing. “This idea is gaining merit the more we talk about it.”

 

“Well, we’re both attractive, relatively sane, work in the science field, have a dodgy friend that comes part in parcel. All we need to do is to see if we are compatible in the best sort of way and I think we’re finally on our way to solving our relationship problems.” The last bit was said with a bit of an eyebrow waggle on John’s part.

 

“You’re cute,” she said with a giggle. She paused for a second and leaned in to kiss him.   John leaned in also and the both stopped for a moment before their lips touched.

 

John was a good kisser.   Definitely one of the better kisses she’d been a participant in. As she moved her lips against his and his tongue stroked her bottom lip she realized though he was a very good kisser, she did not feel the spark she’d been hoping for.

 

They broke apart and looked at each other, foreheads touching.  John chuckled, “Shit.”

 

“What?”

 

“Sorry, Mols I’m not really-“

 

“Feeling it?” Molly interrupted.

 

“Not really, no.  Feels a bit odd, can’t explain it.”

 

“Maybe because we were friends first? And we’re potentially crossing the line?” Molly inquired.

 

“Possibly. Want to give it another go?”

 

“Our sex lives hang in the balance, John. Of course I want to give it another go,” Molly retorted because really, if she and John got together a lot of her problems and frustrations would be solved.

 

John laughed at that before Molly pulled him down by the collar to kiss him.  She could tell by the kiss that they were both trying too hard to make it work, she was just about to break apart for air when the door opened next to them.  

 

Molly and John turned to face the now Sherlock occupied doorway. He was oddly expressionless. Molly glanced at John, her hands still fisted in his coat collar, before looking back at Sherlock. Sherlock stared at them, eyes lingering on John for while, before pushing past them and headed down the stairs, all without saying a word.

 

“Um,” Molly started to say before closing her mouth.

 

“Fairy cake?” John asked after a moment.

 

* * *

 

Ten days, three fairy cakes, and one hangover later, Molly was running a blood analysis at St. Barts when Sherlock and John came into the lab.

 

“Hello John,” She greeted with a sunny smile. Her smile faltered for a second before saying, “Sherlock.”

 

He’d been acting strange since that day on the stairs. More formal and distant than what their friendship had grown to be.  She also caught him giving her strange looks, almost appraising in nature.

 

“Hey Molly!” John said as he started gathering supplies, apparently with some unknown to her goal in his mind.  After a couple minutes of rooting around John kissed her the cheek before walking out of the lab, whistling off key.

 

“Um, where is he-?”

 

“John is collecting a sample of the dirt underneath Teresa Prodino’s toenails.” Sherlock interrupted from where he was seated at the microscope.

 

“Oh,” Molly said quietly before turning back to her analysis. 

 

A few minutes later she heard a loud exhale from Sherlock, “John has met a woman for lunch the past two days. A Mary Morstan. He will probably be delayed in returning due to him calling her clandestinely.”

 

“Oh,” Molly replied. “That’s good for him, I guess.”

 

“Is it?” Sherlock questioned, seemingly startled.

 

“Isn't it?” Molly asked, confused.

 

“He is being disloyal, a trait I did not think John would exhibit.   Usually I am not that wrong about that person. It is annoying not to mention potentially disturbing to the dynamic between us.”

 

“Disloyal? Disturbing the dynamic?” Molly questioned. Realization dawned on her, “Sherlock, does John know he’s being disloyal? Have you told him?”

 

“Told him what?”

 

“Well, how you feel, you can’t expect him to just know, you have to tell him.”

 

“How I feel? What does this have to do with him being disloyal to you?”  Sherlock said, his eyes darting about as he tried to follow the conversation.

 

“Me? Oh! Sherlock, John and I aren’t dating. He’s not cheating on me.”

 

“But the two of you were,” Sherlock paused, “embracing outside the flat last week, and he was wearing his date shoes and-“

 

“Sherlock, John was on a date. It did not end well, remember you wouldn’t stop texting him?  We met for some drinks after and thought we’d see if we had any chemis-,” she cut herself off.  “Sherlock were you trying to look out for me?  That’s so sweet.”

 

Molly smiled and leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek in thanks because him doing things like this is why she let herself stay part of Sherlock’s collection.  Right before she made contact Sherlock swiveled his chair towards her and instead of his cheek she caught half of his mouth and cheek.  She pulled back, “Oh, I’m sorry I meant to kiss your cheek and sorry.”

 

Sherlock stared at her, her face still a couple inches from his.  He leaned in and kissed her.   It was nothing like John’s kiss. This was awkward, really no finesse or technique but but… Molly turned her head a little and started to deepen the kiss.

 

Sherlock pulled back, looking at her lips and flushed face, slightly stunned.  He looked so boyish and so adorable in that moment that Molly couldn’t resist placing her hands on his cheeks and gently kissing him again. His lips were more pliable this time, less like a statue’s.

 

Sherlock broke the kiss.  “You are not involved with John.”

 

“No,” Molly said with a small smile.

 

An almost feral smile broke across his face. “Good,” he commented before pulling her from where she was standing onto his lap and capturing her lips with his. His hand slipped under her lab coat and wrapped around her waist.  Molly curled her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in his tresses. This was some strange sort of dream.  It had to be.  Because there was no way she was actually snogging Sherlock Holmes in her laboratory. Cool fingers trailed down her spine, causing her to shiver at the contact.  She would be perfectly fine never waking up from this.  He slipped his tongue between her lips to taste her before pulling back from her again.

 

Molly used her grip in his hair to change the angle of Sherlock’s head before capturing his lower lips between hers.  Sherlock enthusiastically responded as he tightened his grip on her waist.  Oh he was a fast learner.

 

Oh, well this explains a lot.” John’s voice came from the doorway.  Molly gasped and broke the kiss as Sherlock let out a snarl of annoyance.  “Really, it does.  I wondered why I’ve been getting the cold shoulder and the dirty looks from you but I think I’ve figured it all out. Here’s the sample, mate, I think I’ll just leave you two to it.”

 

John placed the sample on the table before heading out of the lab.  He paused at the door. “By the way, you have a little something on your face, Sherlock.”

 

Molly could her cheeks burn as she noticed the lipstick marks she left around his mouth.  She slipped from Sherlock’s lap and stood in front of him awkwardly before turning back to her sample.

 

“You’re on a case, I-I shouldn’t bother you.”

 

“It’s an experiment actually, not a case,” Sherlock said from behind her.  An experiment on toe jam? Molly wondered.  She didn’t want to know, well she did a little bit.

 

“What was your motivation for kissing John?”

 

Molly looked at the read out of the blood analysis. She doodled on the read out before saying, “Loneliness, possibly.  John and I both want to be with someone and due to, due to um, circumstances, you could say, it makes it difficult sometimes.  To find someone, I mean.  We thought if we liked each other in that way it would solve things.  So we kissed to see if we had any chemistry.  But we don’t, apparently, and so it didn’t. Solve things.”

 

“Circumstances being me,” Sherlock replied, his voice a lot closer.

 

“No,” Molly said quickly as she whirled to face him. She stepped back as she realized how close he was, “Just you know other things and-“

 

“Molly,” Sherlock said with a bit of warning in his voice.  He knew she was lying.

 

“Well, you have a tendency to intrude on times when John or I want to be alone, like on dates and such.  Turns people off, makes them think we’re, you know, involved. So, John and I thought if we were in a relationship with someone who understand how you are then it would work out, so yeah.”

 

There was brief period of silence before Sherlock replied, “I don’t believe you should kiss John anymore.”

 

Molly looked at him. “I wasn’t planning on it, in all honesty.  Especially if he’s seeing someone now.”

 

Sherlock straightened. “Good, that’s very good.”

 

He glanced at the door before turning his attention back to Molly.  He slowly grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to him.  They stood like that for a moment before Sherlock bent down to kiss her again as Molly raised herself up on her toes to meet his lips.  A slow, searching kiss later Sherlock shifted positions so his forehead rested against hers. 

 

“You shouldn’t kiss John anymore,” Sherlock repeated.

 

“No problem,” Molly replied, her eyes closed as she savored their closeness. “No kissing, got it.”

 

“No kissing John,” Sherlock corrected, his hand squeezing her still captured wrist.

 

Molly smiled at that. “Understood and who will I be kissing in lieu of John?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll work something out.” 


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a picture prompt from artbylexie. Here is a link to the picture: http://artbylexie.tumblr.com/post/32770416395/reunion (and hey look at that! There's the original text too!)

Just because a case took a long time did not mean it was a fascinating one.  In fact, it usually meant that there was a copious amount of tedious waiting involved.  The blackmail case she was assisting on was one such case.  One of the royals had gotten themselves involved in yet another extra marital affair.  This time with a university student half their age.    
  
            If it weren’t for the fact that she owed Mycroft for more than she cared to admit, she never would have taken the case.  Additionally, the promised pay out was in the six figures if she successfully recovered the evidence.  That sort of payout was not only rare but it would ensure that there would be little need for her to take well paying but tedious cases in the near future.  
  
            Molly exhaled loudly as she looked over her textbook, surveying her currently giggling target.  Lara Winston.  She reluctantly had to give her credit.  She was quite thorough in not only collecting her evidence but also protecting it.  It was the main reason Molly was still posing as a sub warden studying for a PhD in chemistry.   Originally, Molly had left London intending to stay only a week or two.  That was two months ago.   The annoyed detective adjusted her oversized jumper as she watched Lara tap out a text.  The duration of her stay required her to acquire further articles of clothing.  Though not her preferred style, it was not a great hardship as it helped further her masquerade as a struggling graduate student.   
  
            Molly knew she had gathered or altered most of the evidence, rendering it unsellable to any but the least reputable gossip rags except for the material on her quarry’s mobile phone.  Something rarely out of Ms. Winston’s reach.  None of Molly’s tactics had given her sufficient time to wipe all the information she needed to do so.  
  
            Molly stood and flipped her side braid over her shoulder.  She hated braiding her hair like that, preferring her hair loose but she always looked younger and more vulnerable with her hair restrained.   She was not getting that phone tonight so she might as well return to her room to solve some remote cases Sally forwarded to her.    
  
            “Good night ladies!”  Molly called out cheerfully as she passed them.  
  
            “’Night Tammy!” The girls returned in sync.   
  
            “Oh, Lara! Remember we have an appointment tomorrow at 5:30.”  This was her next play to retrieve the phone.  Slip it away from her and return it to her later, stating she had forgotten it in her room.  
  
            “’Kay!”  
  
            Molly frowned as she made her way to her room.  She felt like her brain was rotting.  The only bonus to this case was the near unlimited access to the chemistry laboratories and libraries on campus.    
  
            Molly was pulling her keys out of her bag when she heard the fire door at the end of the hall open.  She made sure to take her time retrieving her keys.  She liked to see if she could guess which resident, a little game to amuse her.  Molly frowned as she finally fished the key ring out.  The gait was quick and heavy.  The left leg was favored very slightly, suggesting an old injury but incomplete physical therapy.   The soft flapping noise suggested that the person was carrying a small overnight bag.  Molly inhaled deeply.  The scent was faint but recognizable. Armani’s Acqua di Gio Pour Homme.  That fit with her conclusion but there is no reason why he should be here.    
  
            Sherlock dropped his bag the moment Molly turned to face him.  He was only a pace away from her.   Before she could question why he was there, he closed the distance between them, entrapping her by bracing himself against the wall.  Molly couldn’t keep her eyes off of him.  She didn’t like to admit it, but she had missed him greatly.  There was something about his presence that was soothing to her.  A _je ne sais quoi_ that was impossible to capture in the sporadic texts and short calls that they had exchanged.  
  
            Sherlock didn’t kiss her like she had expected.  He just closed his eyes and leaned in close, as if soaking in her presence.  Molly had no desire to close her eyes.  She wanted to relearn the plains of his face.  See what had changed in her absence that he didn’t mention.  The heavy bags under his eyes suggested long nights and little sleep.  Possibly due to his sporadic bouts of insomnia.  It looked like Mrs. Hudson badgered him into getting his hair trimmed a couple weeks ago. He changed his shaving cream.  Bad move.  It irritated his skin.   Molly reached a hand up to wipe away some shaving residue behind his ear before placing her hand on his arm.  He had been lifting heavier weights than usual.  Releasing frustration.  He usually did that because something happened at work or when she did something churlish.  Probably to do with work in this case since she hadn’t been there to frustrate him.   Molly fingered his button down shirt.  He only dressed this smart when he was seeing his mother or he had a meeting.  Definitely work related frustration.  
  
            Molly closed the small gap to lightly press her lips against his.   “Mycroft doesn’t know you’re here.”  He’d never allow his brother to distract her like this when she was working a case for him.  
  
            “No, he doesn’t. You aren’t the only person who can deduce things.  It just took me longer than it would have taken you.  Also, took some snooping.”  Sherlock breathed deeply through his nose.  “You’ve changed your shampoo.  You smell different.”  Molly draped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his chest.  The shirt wasn’t as soft as the jumpers she was used to him wearing.  Molly smirked.  The rough fabric was usually seen in school uniforms.  This must be one of his old Harrow shirts that he neglected to throw away.  For someone so rich, he could be ridiculously thrifty and sentimental when it came to clothes. Sherlock brought his arms around her waist and pulled her close.  “You were only supposed to be gone two weeks.  When are you coming home?”  
  
            Molly inhaled his scent deeply before replying, “Hopefully soon.”  She felt warmth flood her at the idea that Sherlock decided to hunt her down.  It would be disingenuous to say that she did not toy with the idea of returning to London for a day or two.  However, she worried she would miss her opportunity, prolonging her stay.  She would never ask Sherlock to come to her.  It was weak to suggest that she needed him and she did not survive by being weak.   
  
            “I’m staying the weekend.  I know you hate to be disturbed but I don’t care. This is ridiculous, you should tell Mycroft to stuff it.”  
  
            “True.  I do despise being disturbed while I am on a case. If all goes according to plan, I should be home by Friday.”  Molly pulled away from him and quickly unlocked her door.  Molly threw keys and bag on the chair.   She turned and cocked an eyebrow in his direction.  Why on Earth was he just standing there looking nervous?  “Though I have a stairwell on one side and a maintenance room on the other, I would suggest some discretion.”   
  
            Sherlock relaxed and grinned as he scooped up his bag.  He followed her inside, kicking the door shut behind him.


	4. You (Don’t) Kiss By the Book.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Low T (Do you have Low T? Go to is it LowT to find out more.)
> 
> Pairing: Swaplock Sherlolly
> 
> Summary: In which Sherlock and Molly have their first kiss the morning after they have sex. 
> 
> Okay so I wrote part of a smutty first time piece a couple months ago. It’s still unfinished. BUT as I was rereading it I noticed that Molly and Sherlock never kissed before during or after sex. Ever. Part of that was due to me bouncing around with my writing like I have this section where I just have write something here. At first I was like, I CAN WORK WITH THAT. So I wrote this morning after piece where they have their first kiss. Why am I posting this before the smutty section? Well because 1) This is done and 2) I rewrote it so they kiss because it was weirding me out that they didn’t. But I really like this and the world could use more swaplock so voila!

Sherlock was not surprised, though a little disappointed, that he woke up alone the next day. He rolled out of bed with a sigh before grabbing the nearest dressing gown. 

His nose was hit with the smell of coffee as he stepped into the hallway.  Sherlock closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.  The best smell in the morning had to be ready-made coffee.

Molly was sitting at the kitchen table swathed in one of his dressing gowns, scribbling in her moleskin.  She didn’t even glance up with he entered the room.

“Morning,” Sherlock said quietly.

Molly hummed in acknowledgement.

Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.  Part of him was definitely annoyed that she wasn’t acting any different.  While he didn’t expect her to suddenly declare her everlasting love for him-in fact he would be stunned and probably a little freaked out if she did-, he did expect a little more acknowledgment then usual.  On the other hand, he would rather she not act any different if the alternative was uncomfortable interaction.  Sherlock poured himself a cup of coffee and placed it at his spot on the table.  He paused for a moment thinking the sound of the mug hitting the table would cause her to look up. 

No such luck.

Sherlock let out a mental sigh and went to grab a bowl for cereal.  He’d kill for some toast and bangers but he didn’t feel like fighting the fire alarm he knew he’d set off with his attempts.  Normally on a morning after, he’d either assist in breakfast preparations the best he could or go out for breakfast.  It seemed weird that they were occupying their own spaces, not in any post coital bliss.  It was oddly domestic in a way, almost as if he could fool himself that they were so used to each other that there was no need for the morning after reassurances and smiles.

            “Holy shit!” Sherlock cried when he turned around from the cupboard, dropping his bowl.  Molly had moved from her spot at the table and was standing no less than a foot away from him.  Molly arched an eyebrow at him as she offered him the bowl she caught.   Sherlock grabbed the bowl from her.  “Don’t do that! You scared the shit out of me.”

            “I was thinking about last night.”

            “Oh?  You-you were?”  Was that what she was writing in her moleskin?  A critique?  He briefly wondered if there was a way he could read it without her knowing he did.  Unlikely.

            She stepped closer to him so that there was barely any space between them.  He noticed idly that she’d rolled the sleeves up of the dressing gown several times and that even though she had hitched some material over the belt, it still dragged on the floor.  “Why didn’t you kiss me?”

            “What?”

            “Upon further reflection of our activities, I realized that you hadn’t kissed me.  Why?”  She looked almost hesitant when she asked her question as if she was afraid of the answer.

            “I have no idea.  Just didn’t.  Why didn’t you kiss me?”

            Molly blinked at the question.  She smirked as she parroted his reply, “I have no idea. Just didn’t.”

            Sherlock reached behind him to blindly put the bowl on counter.  He fumbled as he kept missing the surface.  Molly pressed herself against him as she reached her right arm forward to guide the bowl onto the counter.  She retracted her arm, brushing his hip, to place her hands on his chest.  Sherlock mind blanked as she leaned against him to steady herself as she stood up on her tiptoes. 

            “You are too tall,” Molly said softly.  Despite her increased height, she was still too far from her goal.

            “You’re just too short.”  His voice was barely above a whisper as he ducked his head down.  He stopped a breath away from her face.  He was relieved to see that she had closed her eyes.  The idea of kissing her while being subjected to her calculating stare was a bit discomforting.  He knew she was going to catalog every bit of information but with her eyes closed he could pretend she could be lost in the sensation.  Idly he hoped his morning breath wasn’t too horrible as he kissed her.

            She tasted of the creamy coffee that he knew she preferred.  Two creamers, one sugar.   This seemed more intimate then it should, considering what happened last night.   Molly unsurely pressed her slightly chapped lips against his.  Sherlock lifted her up slightly to improve the angle as he gently moved his lips, urging her to respond.  The movement caused Molly’s borrowed dressing gown to gap, allowing her soft skin to rub along Sherlock’s chest.  Her hands slide up from his chest as she curled her arms around his neck. He could feel himself getting lost in the kiss.  It didn’t surprise him that Molly was a fast learner.  Her initial kiss was tentative, passive but it became more confident and skilled every time their lips met.   A soft moan of appreciation rumbled in Molly’s throat as he sucked her lower lip in between his.  He pulled away, refusing to release her lower lip until the last moment.

            Molly’s eyes were rooted to his lips.  He could understand the fascination.  He was currently trying to memorize her flushed face, darkened eyes, and swollen lips.  Molly pulled him down for another kiss.  It was rougher than the first.  The first was a slower exploration of each other.  As he urged her to open her mouth, he knew that this wasn’t a kiss but foreplay.  Molly threaded a leg in between his and eagerly opened her mouth.  Sherlock pulled back at her overenthusiasm as he attempted to slow down the kiss, allowing her to work out how to use her tongue.  Judging by the way her warm tongue ceased attempting to count all of his teeth and started to trace his lips before darting inside, she got the hint. 

            There were major pluses to becoming involved with a genius he thought. 

            “I have to get to work,” he rasped before capturing her lips again.

            “Call off.  You never do,” Molly replied as she started to kiss her way to his neck.

            “Can’t.  Big meeting today.  Got to be there.” Sherlock arched his neck to allow her better access as she nibbled and sucked at his neck.  The noise he let out could only be described as a rumble.  For the first time in his life, Sherlock hated his job.  He had an inkling that Molly was as keen to explore his body as he was to explore hers the night before.  And he wanted nothing more than to let her do so.  To just lie passive as Molly used herself to examine every inch of him.

            Molly licked the spot she’d been abusing and pulled away.  “Well.  It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere.  Best get ready then.”  She straightened her dressing gown and went back to her former spot at the table.

            Sherlock sagged against the counter, knocking the bowl to the ground.  “Oh for the love of God.”

            Ten minutes later Sherlock was about to put on his scarf and walk out the door when Molly called out, “I’m no expert on ordinary people but I believe people tend to cover that up.”

            Sherlock looked down at his outfit.  Shoes, socks, trousers, dress shirt, waistcoat, everything was zipped, buttoned, and in order.  He glanced at Molly to see her still writing in her moleskin.  She was tapping the side of her neck with her free hand.

            Sherlock rushed to the bathroom to see a blossoming hickey on the side of his neck.  “Shit.”  No time to really get rid of it.  He didn’t own any turtlenecks.  He grabbed Molly’s make up bag and ran to the kitchen.  He dumped the contents on the tabletop and pawed through them, trying to find some sort of concealer.  He grabbed a tube and started rubbing it on the spot, using the stainless steel refrigerator as a mirror.  He knew that she had a large collection for her disguises but honestly, did she really need this much make-up?

            “That’s foundation primer.  That’s not going to cover it up.”

            Sherlock stopped rubbing.  “What?”

            Molly sighed and stood up.  “What you’re putting on your neck.  It’s a clear primer.  It won’t cover anything up.”

            Sherlock cursed as he threw it onto the tabletop.  He did not need to be sporting a hickey while meeting with his boss and his boss’s boss and his boss’s boss’s boss.

            “Sit,” Molly commanded.   “You’re lucky I have an extensive cosmetics collection and experience hiding bruises.”   She methodically looked through the vials and tubes before selecting one. Sherlock squinted as she unscrewed the cap, why was it green? She gently rubbed the liquid on his neck.  “Stay there.”  She walked back towards the bathroom only to appear moments later with a brush and a small plastic compact.  She flipped open the compact and ran the brush over the powder several times before brushing it on his neck.  “There.  That makes it less noticeable.”

            “Thank God,” Sherlock said as he examined neck in the mirror. “Next time, a little lower would be better.”

            “I’ll remember that.  Shouldn’t you be leaving?”

            “Yes. Definitely yes.” Sherlock slipped on his scarf before throwing on his coat.  He absentmindedly gave Molly a peck on the lips before grabbing his briefcase.  “See you at 7.  Curry for dinner?  No wait, you ate yesterday.  I’ll pick up some curry for me, feel free to eat some if you want.”  He bounded down the stairs before she could say anything.  It was going to be a good day.


	5. Relax Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG for nekkidness. 
> 
> Pairing: Molly/Rule 63!Sherlock 
> 
> Summary: CCB (Cotton Candy Bingo) Prompt: Water. Molly takes some much needed time to relax.
> 
> Notes: I wrote this yesterday as part of my long Molly/Rule 63!Sherlock story and realized Ho Shit, this works for water! So here it is.

 

Molly sighed in contentment as she sank down into the hot bubbly water.  It had taken her two days to completely move into 221b.  She was exhausted from hauling furniture, clothes, and other items about.  Especially because she had to put in a long shift at Barts today.  As soon as she came home, she stripped and claimed the bathroom.  John and Sherlock where off somewhere on a case and she had the place to herself.  So she indulged herself with bubble bath, bath oils and salts.  She wasn’t entirely sure if you were supposed to use them together but she didn’t really care. 

            She dug out some candles, put on some soothing music, and grabbed a beer.  This was a cliché she was going to enjoy the shit of, she thought as she positioned herself.  This made scrubbing the tub worth it.  One never knew what Sherlock grew in there and she decided to be safe than sorry.

            Molly was halfway through her beer when she the sounds of Sherlock and John returning reached her ears.  She sighed and sank deeper into the tub.  She hoped to God that it wasn’t a case that involved her relinquishing the tub to two very dirty crime fighters.  The door leading to her and Sherlock’s bedroom opened and Sherlock poked her head it.  Molly was relieved to see her in one piece and not covered in muck.  Hopefully John was the same way and she could retain her claim on the bathtub.

            Sherlock didn’t say anything, instead deciding to raise an eyebrow in her direction.

            “Either join me or get out,” Molly warned.  Molly knew Sherlock had little patience for anything that spoke of indulgence outside of a few exceptions.  She didn’t want to hear it.  Molly hoped that Sherlock would just roll her eyes and leave her be.

            She was surprised when Sherlock shrugged and stripped out of her clothes.  She pulled her hair out its hair tie and tossed it on the sink before giving Molly a challenging look.

            Molly raised her eyebrows in return, cursing the fact she couldn’t raise just one.  “Well?”

            Sherlock smirked as she stepped into the tub.  After a brief period of adjusting their limbs, Sherlock relaxed against Molly’s chest, resting her head on Molly’s shoulder.  Molly dropped a kiss on her forehead before wrapping her arms around Sherlock.  This was nice, she decided.  Relaxing in the tub, with her girlfriend nestled in between her legs.  Perfect end to the day.

            “How was the case?”

            Sherlock turned her head to nuzzle Molly’s neck.  “Brilliant.  I’ll tell you all about it later.”

            That surprised Molly.  Usually Sherlock was very eager to explain a case, often times disrupting whatever Molly was doing in order to do so.  “Later?”

            “Shh, I’m relaxing.”

            Molly rolled her eyes.  “Brat.”

Molly changed her mind later that evening as she lounged  in their bed on her stomach, wrapped in a terrycloth bathrobe while watching Sherlock enthusiastically act out her latest case, her tartan dressing gown whirling about her.  This was the perfect end to the day.  


	6. Not John Watson’s Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Sherlock/Rule 63!Molly
> 
> Summary: After John married Mary Morstan and moved out people still kept asking Sherlock if he missed his boyfriend. This baffles him
> 
> Note: I love my OTP is all shapes and forms. After I wrote a really long Molly/Rule 63!Sherlock story, I was like, ‘Matty Hooper needs some lovin’ too.

 

After John had married Mary Morstan and moved out, he was no longer capable of watching after his best mate all the time.  He would always be there for cases but the mundane buying of the milk and hiding of the guns weren’t feasible anymore.

            So Matty moved from his crap flat to the palatial space of 221b.  Everyone that knew Sherlock was of the mind that he needed a 24/7 minder.  Matty was all too happy to step in. Sherlock had lived with him for months off and on during his faked death.  Matty was pretty sure he could take Sherlock’s antics.  Especially now that he had back up in the form of John Watson and Mrs. Hudson.

            “Here,” Matty said as he handed Sherlock a mug of tea.  He had been in his mind palace for hours, sorting through and filing information.

            Sherlock let out a small noise that Matty took as ‘thank you’ and sipped the tea.  The pathologist collapsed in the chair opposite of him and picked up the book he had abandoned.

            “People are remarkably unobservant,” Sherlock stated.

            Matty raised his eyebrows at the non sequitor.  It was a statement he had heard Sherlock voice repeatedly but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why Sherlock was saying it now.  “What brought this on?”

            “At the crime scene today Donovan asked if I had missed my boyfriend since he moved out.”

            “Okay,” Matty said slowly.

            “Why do people keep thinking that John is my boyfriend despite him now being married to a woman?  No one asks if we are involved.  What am I doing with John and not with you that would make people think that?  Don’t people see?!”  Sherlock looked honestly puzzled and perhaps a bit upset.  Though whether it was because the Yarders were unobservant or because people still thought John Watson was Sherlock’s boyfriend was beyond him.

            “Does it bother you?  That people don’t ask if we are a couple?”

            “Confuses more than bother.  I don’t like it.”  Sherlock quickly drank the rest of his mug and set it down.  He must’ve been thirstier than Matty had originally thought.

            Matty put his book back on the arm of the chair and leaned forward.  He grabbed Sherlock’s hand and gave his knuckles a kiss.  “Want me to come down to the Yard next time you and John are there and snog you?” 

Sherlock glared at him in annoyance.  Apparently he was not taking this as seriously as Sherlock would’ve liked.  Matty couldn’t resist grinning at him.  It honestly didn’t bother him that the Yarders didn’t think Sherlock was his boyfriend.  All their friends and family knew.  The married ones next door that Matty couldn’t stand knew.  The owner of Speedy’s knew.  Everyone at Bart’s knew.  Most people with eyes knew.  Matty found it hilarious that the people at Scotland Yard, save Lestrade, just couldn’t give up on the notion that Sherlock could be gay and not be with John Watson.  “I could you know.  Just waltz right on in after a long case, push you against the wall and snog you right in front of the office.  Let everyone know that you are not John Watson’s boyfriend.”

            “Don’t make promises you won’t keep.”

            “You’re right.  I would probably be too shy to do that.  However, I am not too shy to drag you into a broom closet."

            Sherlock leaned forward and kissed the pathologist soundly.  “I may hold you to that.”


	7. New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was for some Cotton Candy Bingo Prompt. I think it was 'New'. There are actually two versions of this prompt but this is the longer (and better in my opinion) version of the two.

Slade and Maisie-  Mid-Jacobean Era

 

“Oh for goodness’s sakes!”

 

            Slade turned slightly at the soft scoff behind him that interrupted an almost impossibly hairy man’s attempt to sell the crowd some vile concoction.

 

            A small green clad woman watched the charlatan, her mouth a moue of distaste.  A single brown curl had escaped from her coif and dangled above her disapproving eyes. She clutched a basket of vegetables as she listened.

 

            Slade was too busy examining her to hear the next part of the charlatan’s pitch but whatever it was proved too much for her.  She turned on her heel and stalked away.

 

            He had planned on debunking the man’s claims before leaving to move on to the next town but this proved much more interesting.  Rarely had he seen such an expressive and intriguing woman.

 

            He followed her through the market as she perused the stalls, looking for an opening to speak to her.  Slade didn’t know why he felt so compelled to speak with her, he just knew that he had to do so.

 

            Luck was on his side as she examined a pot.

 

            “It’s flawed.”

 

            She started.  “Pardon?”

 

            He pointed to the tiny crack in the vessel.  “See?  Right there? It’s flawed.  It won’t last more than three uses.”

 

            She blinked at him before examining the pot herself. Her mouth quirked up the moment she noticed the crack.  “So it is.”

 

            “I’m called Slade Hunt.”  He nodded his head as he introduced himself.

 

            She dipped a curtsey.  “Maisie Hall at your service.  What brings you to Acton?”

 

            “What makes you think I’m not from here?”

 

            Maisie cocked her head to the side as she looked at him. “Because I have lived here all my life and I have never seen you about.  And as the local midwife, I make it my business to know people.”

 

            Slade raised an eyebrow.  “Maybe I just haven’t needed the services of a midwife.”

 

            “I’m not wrong though, am I?”

 

            “No. No, you’re not.”

 

            “Will be here long, Master Hunt?”  She asked as she bustled away from the stall.

 

            “I had planned on leaving today.”

 

            “How unfortunate,” Maisie said with a flirtatious grin.

******

 

            He never left.

 

            Slade stayed to become the local constable and raise five children with Maisie, three of who survived to adulthood.

 

            He befriended the local lord, Sir Geoffrey Langdon, and his man at arms, Jacob Winters, to the benefit of his family and the community. His position and the position of his friends kept him free to do his experiments with minimal interference.

 

            The lung fever that swept over his village took him when he was fifty and a grandfather three times over.

 

            Maisie only managed to survive him by three days before succumbing herself.

 

           

Schuyler and Millie-Early Restoration

 

            Ever since Schuyler was little he would talk about things he could not know. When his parents teased him that he would marry the blacksmith’s girl he vehemently denied that it would come true. He was married to a woman with dark eyes and a shy smile.  Her name was Maisie and _she_ is whom he will marry.

 

            His parents just laughed at him, convinced their child was brilliant at telling stories. 

 

            Michael didn’t tease him.  He believed every word his older brother said.  Michael vaguely remembered being a Myron and looking out for a dark haired scamp of a brother named Slade.  A brother who left their village to never return.

 

            One day, when Schuyler was twenty-five and Michael twenty-three someone new arrived in their village.  Mildred came to live with her Uncle Max after her village was ravaged by smallpox, killing her parents and husband.

 

            Michael was instantly smitten with her.  He called as often as he could upon the apothecary without being too overt with his intentions, in hope of catching a glimpse of the quiet woman.  

 

            After several attempts to engage her interest, Michael called in his brother for help.  Though Schuyler was infamous for his disinterest in women, preferring to spend his time studying and experimenting on the local flora, he could read people like an open book. He would be able to see if he had any chance with the young widow.

 

            Schuyler stopped short before Michael could point out who in the gaggle of women was Mildred.

 

            “Maisie,” he breathed, as if the name was a prayer.

 

            “No,” Michael corrected, his stomach tightening in dread. “Mildred.  Her name is Mildred.”

 

            Schuyler ignored him, moving towards her as if he was in a dream. Mildred noticed him when he was but a few feet away.

 

            “Goodwife Lawson,” he greeted.

 

            Mildred blushed and ducked her head.   Michael stood rooted to his spot, not believing what he was seeing.

 

            Within a week they had dispensed with the formalities and Mildred had convinced Schuyler to call her ‘Millie.’

 

            They married as soon as Lent ended.

 

            By July, Mildred, now Goodwife Hollis was pregnant.  Michael had moved on from his infatuation with his now sister-in-law.  She was good for his brother, keeping Schuyler from being too lost in his experiments. She also kept the gossip swirling around his brother at bay because surely a man with such a charming wife wasn’t bedeviled but merely odd.

 

            In early February Millie delivered a healthy baby girl, Lettice. Two days later she developed a fever. When Lettice was a week old, Millie quietly breathed her last in her husband’s arms.

 

            Michael had to fetch Justin Wilds, Schuyler’s only friend, to convince Schuyler to let go of Millie’s body.

 

            Michael watched his brilliant older brother lose all sense of happiness and purpose over the years.  Losing Millie was a heavy blow but it was little Lettie’s death four years after her mother’s that destroyed Schuyler. All of his brother’s cleverness and deeds couldn’t save his tiny daughter from typhoid.

 

            Michael swore the same would never happen to him.

           

 

Samuel and Margaret-Georgian Era

 

            Samuel’s parents died when he was eight years old.  His brother Michael, no Matthew now, couldn’t provide for him. He managed to get him into an orphanage run by nuns.  When he left Samuel there he told them that the nuns would be kind to him and teach him skills to survive. Michael swore he would come back for Samuel. 

 

He entered an apprenticeship to a kindly shipwright, building, altering, and designing vessels to traverse the oceans.  Once his apprenticeship ended, Samuel set out on a merchant ship as a sailor.  He was determined to learn everything about sailing a ship and what calamities and issues could arise during a voyage.

 

His ships were going to be the best and most modern sailing the seas.  Samuel intended to build up his own company and amass a fortune. Not for love of money but because Samuel knew he just _knew_ that he was going to find his Maisie, his Millie, his wife again one day and nothing was too good for her. 

 

            It didn’t matter what her name was in this life time, she would not have to labor if she did not chose to.  She will have access to the best foods, drinks, clothes, and medical care.

 

            He only had to find her.

*#*#*#*#*

 

            “Sister Humbeline,” Samuel greeted the elderly sister warmly.

 

            “Oh! Oh! My boy!” The woman scurried to her feet as fast she could, abandoning her gardening tools.   Samuel picked her up off her feet and into a bear hug.   Sister Humbeline was his favorite of all the nuns at the orphanage and Samuel was completely unashamed to admit it.   She saw beyond the odd, standoffish boy he was and treated him as the son she would never have.  Sister Humbeline spoiled him as much as she could in their austere setting and Samuel returned her affection just as ardently.

 

            He couldn’t even really remember his real mother anymore, all memories of her mixed with Sister Humbeline to the point that he couldn't disentangle who was whom.

 

            “You have not been diligent in writing, you terrible, terrible boy.” Her scolding was completely ineffective due to the tears of happiness running down her face.

 

            Samuel shrugged.  “Nothing much to report.”

 

            Sister Humbeline huffed.  “Well, I have written you even though constancy is the main element of my life.”

 

            “Yes, I have read and re-read your letters.  You have an abundance of tomatoes in your garden.  Billy terrified one of the chickens to the point that it lost all of its feathers.  And you have has three new novitiates.”

 

            Sister Humbeline wagged her finger.  “Not novitiates.  They took their temporary vows last month.  Oh you must meet them, they’re delightful girls.  Especially Sister Margaret.  She’s an odd one but quite sweet.”

 

            Samuel rolled his eyes and allowed his surrogate mother to lead him about the orphanage, chattering the whole way.   She stopped outside a classroom and motioned for him to peek inside.

 

            The sister-presumably Sister Margaret- was kneeling besides a frustrated boy of about thirteen, gently soothing him.  Her warm brown skin contrasted with the white lining of her wimple.

 

            Sister Humbeline sighed.  “Sister Margaret has been Jamison’s savior.  He didn’t speak a lick of English when he came here, only French.  Thankfully, Sister Margaret’s family is creole and she’s been slowly teaching him.  We hope to place him in an apprenticeship as soon as his English improves.”

 

            Sister Margaret glanced at the two in the door, gave them a welcoming smile and broke Samuel’s heart.

***

            Samuel stayed in town much longer than he planned.  He could manage his business from here; the mail routes were reliable enough.   Samuel visited the orphanage every week, originally under the guise of tutoring Jamison in English.  

 

            He grew rather fond of the blond haired boy, to the point that he arranged him to be his apprentice.  Samuel never thought about taking an apprentice but he was almost sure Jamison was this life’s Justin. 

 

            He had missed Justin almost as much as he had Millie.

 

            Samuel befriended Sister Margaret as they tutored Jamison together. They shared meals, planned activities to improve the children’s language skills, and discussed their shared love of science.

 

            An urgent letter implored Samuel to return to his business in New York and Samuel could no longer ignore his duties.  He would leave and take Jamison but he had to see Sister Margaret just one last time.

 

            He found her praying alone in the sisters’ chapel.

 

            “Samuel! You can't be here!” Her mouth was an ‘O’ of surprise and horror. 

 

            Samuel knelt down next to her and wrapped his hands around her calloused ones. “I had to ask you something before I leave.”

 

            “You can’t be here,” she repeated.

 

            Samuel fought down the urge to roll his eyes.  “Come with me.”

 

            He counted one hundred and thirty three of his heartbeats until she responded. “Wha-what?”

 

            “Come with me.  To New York. Leave this behind and come with me.” He took a quick breath and hurriedly continued.  “You’ll want for nothing.  I am a wealthy man and anything you want you can have.  You’ll be able to be with Jamison also.  I know you’ll miss him.”

 

            “Come with you.”

 

            Samuel nodded, not daring to look in her eyes.

 

            “Do you think money and the promise of baubles would tempt me? I _chose_ this lifestyle and you think you could tempt me to be your mistress because of your wealth?  I know how you people think so little of mine.  We’re good enough to bed but not good enough to wed, correct?”

 

            Anger surged through him.  _How could she think so little of him?_ “I don’t want you as my mistress, I want you to be my bride,” he hissed.

 

            Margaret’s eyes were wide with surprise.  Clearly, she did not expect his response.  She leaned over and gave him a tentative kiss on the cheek. “I’m already a bride, Samuel. A bride of Christ. I willingly took my vows to Him and I would not break them.”

 

            “You’ve only taken your temporary vows,” he argued.  The church and society be damned, he was _not_ losing her again.

 

            Did he truly see her wavering or did he only wish he saw it? He kissed her cold fingers. “All I ask is that you think about it and allow me to write to you.”

 

            Margaret sat back on her heels and wrung her hands.

 

            Samuel swallowed a sigh.  “Either promise me you’ll think about it or let me know now that there is no hope. I swear I will never bother you again if that is what you desire.”

 

            Margaret didn’t meet his eyes.  “It’ll be Vespers soon.”

 

            He stood up and strode out of the chapel without a word.

 

***

 

            “Sam?”

 

            “Yes, Jamison?”  Samuel didn’t look up from his desk.   The accounts had to be balanced.  It was extremely tedious work and he wondered why he didn’t just sell the whole business. He did this all for _her._ Solving the puzzles of shipbuilding lost all of its appeal.

 

            “I found this in my knapsack.”  Jamison held out a small wrapped package  “Sister Maggie asked me to give it to you but uh, I sort of forgot about it.”

 

            Samuel knocked his chair over in his haste to stand.  “Yes, thank you, Jamie.”  He shooed the teenager out of the room as he tore open the package.

 

            It was a well-worn Bible; pages were already becoming loose for the binding. She gave him a copy of Scripture?  His brow furrowed in thought.  Was this a reminder of her status as untouchable? 

 

            Samuel chucked the book against the wall in rage, sending pages flying everywhere.

           

A small piece of parchment with :

_S-_

_Hebrews 10:23_

_-M_

fluttered to the ground, where it would stay until a servant cleaned up the papers that night.

 

 

_Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for [s]he who promised is faithful._

 

Safford and Martha-Early Victorian

“Phalanges,” Safford whispered before touching his lips to Martha’s fingertips.

 

Her cheeks were flushed pink as they sat alone in her family’s sitting room.  Her sister was supposed to be chaperoning her but Henrietta was lax in her duties. Most likely due to the silver coin he slipped her as he entered their home.  She was an enterprising young lady.

 

“Metacarpals.”  A kiss to the palm of her hand.

 

He relished these rare moments together without someone breathing down their necks.  The restrictions relaxed slightly since their engagement was announced but not enough.

 

Martha inhaled sharply as he gently nipped her wrist. “Carpals.”

 

It was not nearly enough.

 

He dropped two quick kisses on her forearm. “Radius.  Ulna.”

 

For thirteen years he had waited for her this lifetime.

 

Safford dipped his head to brush a kiss on her upper arm.  “Humerus.”

 

She was six years old the first time he saw her. He was nine.

 

“Safford,” she protested weakly after he licked her clavicle.  “Someone will see.”

 

He tugged her closer as he pressed a kiss to her neck. “Cervical vertebrae.  So they see. What will they do?  Make me marry you?”

 

She was walking with her father, carrying his medicine bag with the gravitas only a child entrusted with an important task could. He was with his mother as she perused the new selection of fabrics.  His mother was London bred and went to their small Hampshire village as often as possible in attempt to recapture some of the bustle of her hometown.

 

He inhaled the smell of her hair before nuzzling the side of her head.  “Parietal.”

 

He was given a bag of peppermint sweets for being an obedient boy.  Truly, he was too busy people watching to get into much mischief. 

 

“Temporal,” he breathed in her hair after pressing his lips to her temple.

 

He had dropped his sweets all over the dusty street the moment he saw her. 

 

Martha giggled as she turned to face him.

 

“Ah, thank you.”  He quickly kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, and the outer corner of her eye.  “Frontal, nasal, orbital.”

 

He had never seen her so young before. The part of him that wasn’t a nine year old boy but a man who remembered far too many lifetimes was surprised he even recognized her.

 

“I never knew there were so many bones of the cranium. Papa locks up his medical books in his library.  He says it’s unladylike for me to read them.”  Her face was just inches from him. 

 

Safford scowled.  “When we marry I will buy you all the books you can name.” He pecked her cheek.  “Zygoma.”

 

Just like an infant was secure in their parents’ affections, Safford was secure in his knowledge that he would marry Martha Hoffman. She was no unattainable Margaret; bound to a god he stopped believing in lifetimes ago.

 

“Anything?” Martha asked, her eyes bright.

 

“Medicine, fiction, poetry, botany, anything you desire.”  All the knowledge he had craved in previous lifetimes was at his disposal.  He wanted to share it with the person he loved most. Safford leaned in to kiss her upper lip. “Maxilla.”

 

Martha’s hand fluttered uncertainly by his head, unsure where it should rest, as she pressed her lips against his.

 

Safford pulled away to capture her lower lip. “Mandible.”

 

Martha hummed contentedly against his lips.

 

“We’ll take the tea in the sitting room,” came Henrietta’s overly loud voice from the hallway.  

 

Martha started and backed away to the other side of the couch, her face flushed and her hair mussed. 

 

Safford couldn’t contain his sigh. Thankfully his last term at Oxford was commencing in a sennight.  Soon, enough they’ll be wed and free from these idiotic restrictions.

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

            _“…the amount of new patients appear to be waning and not a moment too soon!  Papa and I are exhausted and heart sore from tending to the afflicted. There is so little we can do and even less comfort to offer.  What does one tell Betsy Milford that the only thing she can do for her son is pray and keep him comfortable?”_

Safford placed his tumbler of whiskey down as he read Martha’s latest letter.  The mention of Betsy’s son caused a shiver to run down his spine. He swears if he closes his eyes he can feel the weight of Millie’s lifeless head on his shoulder after succumbing to infection. 

 

He made a mental note to visit Jeremy. He patroned quite a few of the local dens of ill repute; if any one would know how to prevent pregnancy it would be him.  Safford refused to risk losing her in childbed again.  She had her nieces and nephews and she would have him.  That would be enough for her.  He would be enough.  He would be anything if it meant keeping her.

 

He turned his attention back to the letter, skimming to find lighter news.

 

_“…I won’t bore you with details, I promise.  I will only say that my trousseau is proceeding nicely and will be ready soon. What do you think about a June wedding? Your mother and mine are furiously planning but without a date, they find themselves restrained in what they can accomplish!”_

A knock sounded at the door.

 

Safford sighed in annoyance. “Yes?”

 

“Mr. Hinckely?  A Mr. Milton Hopkins is here to see you.”

 

Safford’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t seen his cousin in several years.  He’d refused to speak to him ever since he warned Safford to stop his pursuit of Martha.

 

“I’ll see him.”

 

Milton walked in slowly, an uncharacteristically soft look on his face.

 

Safford inhaled sharply, the letter dropping from his hand to float to the ground.  “I’ve lost her again, haven’t I?”

 

His cousin pulled his hand from his pocket and stepped forward, opening his fist.  A diamond twinkled in the rose gold setting.  “Scarlet fever. Her family thought you would want it back.”

 

“No,” Safford said hoarsely.  “No, I don’t.”

 

“I did warn you.”

 

Two days later a handsome red leather bound book arrived. He’d heard much about Henry Gray’s new anatomy tome.  Safford ran his fingers gently over the pages, taking in the detailed drawings.

 

It was as beautiful as he hoped. The perfect start to Martha Hinckley’s library.  He barely suppressed a growl before chucking it into the fire.

 

He sat down heavily, his hand clenching his pant leg. He’d be fine.  This was fine. He just had to wait. They’d meet again.

 

They always did.

 

 

 

Simon and Mary-The Great War/Edwardian

 

            Simon wasn’t sure it was her.

 

            He saw her passing as she boarded a bus outside the London School of Medicine for Women.  Her skirt was long and black and her blouse perfectly starched.  He attempted to sprint down the street after her.

 

            “Simon! What’s wrong with you?” Jonathon exclaimed as he held onto his arm.

 

            “Saw her,” he gasped out as he struggled against his friend’s grip.

 

            “I don’t give a toss who you saw, you can’t go! We’re leaving!”

 

            Simon blinked at his best friend before glancing at the lorry next to him filled with olive clad men.  “Of course,” he muttered.  “France is calling.”

 

            Jonathon narrowed his eyes at him.  “Simon.”

 

            Simon climbed into the lorry.  It was too late, anyway.  He’d never find her now. But when he returned in a couple weeks when the war had ended he’d find her.  There couldn’t be too many students.

 

            A month later, as he lay bleeding not so far from the banks of the Marne, all Simon could think was that perhaps it was better this way. After all, he couldn’t lose someone he never had.

 

0-0-0

 

Mary Hammond never knew Simon Halket. Mary Hammond never mourned Simon Halket.

 

Mary mourned the patients she couldn't save from the pandemic sweeping her country and the world.   Every day more sick came in and every day more of them died.   It was at the point that the sick were turned away.  There ceased to be available beds weeks ago and now there was no more space in the halls or the rooms or on the floors. 

 

The Great War had barely ended and it seemed like death had come home with the soldiers.

 

Mary worked tirelessly to save her patients. She administered aspirin, cooled their heads, pounded their backs in effort to break up the mucus that took hold and drowned them alive. While she was still lucky enough to be uninfected, she would fight for them.  Other nurses and doctors began to lose hope and give in to the disease, tying toe tags on patients who had yet to succumb.  Mary hoped she would never lose the hope that the end was in sight, that this nightmare would finally end.

 

Two weeks into the epidemic, her luck ran out.   She collapsed one morning while attempting to identify an ill patient.  She was so cyanotic that Mary couldn’t even tell what race she was let alone who she was.

 

            The virus wasted no time in ravaging her body and lungs.  By early afternoon she had been wracked with pains in her joints until it hurt just to breathe.  By evening she fell into an almost comatose state.  It was if she was on the edge of a precipice.  She knew what were to happen if she were to go over it but she couldn’t seem to find the strength or will to go back.  By morning, her body was wrapped in a sheet and put with the others to await the next mass grave to be dug.

 

Sherlock and Molly-21st century

 

            They never had children.  Molly didn't want them and nearly 400 years later Sherlock still remembered Schuyler desperately trying to cure Lettice.  Begging her to drink just a little bit more and _yes darling, I knew you don’t feel well but just one more drink for Papa. One more and I promise you can sleep._ He remembered Slade holding Maisie as she sobbed and wailed for their lost little ones.

 

No, he didn't want children either.

 

Over the years they had a few pets but mostly they were content with just each other.  It was more than enough for him.  As they grew older, Sherlock found himself wondering and worrying about what their next life would entail.  If he would find her in time or not; if they would be able to find happiness again. Whenever he became too lost in his own head, Molly would lay a hand on his shoulder and bring him back to the present. 

           

            He couldn't say that it was worth the wait to walk hand and hand with Molly on the beach in the mornings, wrapped in cardigans as they watched the fog burn off.   But he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

 

           

 

 


	8. Avoiding the Luke and Leia Complication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swaplock!
> 
> In which John and Sherlock talk and then Sherlock talks to Mycroft
> 
>  
> 
> Dialogue only!

“So I met that new detective everyone is buzzing about.”

“Hmm?”

“Sherlock, are you paying any attention to me?”

“Of course I am.”

“Sure.  So I met that new detective.  Odd bird, that Holly.”

“Molly.”

“What?”

“Her name is Molly.  Not Holly. It’s Molly Hooper.”

“Oh, right.  You know who she reminds me a bit of?”

“Absolutely no idea.”

“Mycroft.”

“WHAT?”

“You know! With the whole by the look of your right nostril I can tell you prefer to drink skim milk bit.  She doesn’t look like him or anything.  God, your brother as a girl?  Horrifying.”

“Actually that is not so much Mycroft but a Holmes trait.  One I apparently missed out on.”

“Oh.”

“….”

“Hey Sherlock?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Molly could be your sister?”

“WHAT?!”

“Well, you said it was Holmes trait. You told me your dad was a prick who cheated on your mum.  Don’t you have like several half siblings?”

“I have one, not several.”

“Well, anyway.  That on top of the fact that Mycroft is taking such an interest?  Could be she’s your sister.  Also you have the whole cheekbone things going on.”

“The cheekbones come from my mother’s side.”

“Whatever.  I’d check it out. Make sure you don’t fancy your little sister.  That’d be creepy.”

“I don’t fancy Molly!”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“What do I owe the pleasure of this phone call, little brother?”

“The new detective, Molly Hooper.”

“Yes? Has she done something already?”

“No. Well, not that I’m aware of.  Is she our sister?”

“…”

“Mycroft?”

“Why on Earth would you ask that?”

“It’s a valid question! You know how Father was.  On top of the fact that you are taking an interest in her and she exhibits a very, uh, Holmesian way of thinking, I thought I would see.”

“No, she is not our half sister.”

“Oh.  Um, that’s good to know.”

“Feel better now that you are able to debauch Ms. Hooper in your mind without the fear of inadvertent incest?”

“I don’t fancy Molly Hooper!”


	9. Journal Entries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this Prompt "Swaplock- Molly invites Sherlock out for dinner."
> 
> Original Note: This is a new style for me so enter with care. Also I’m still trying to balance balance making Molly a consulting detective and still Molly.

**April 7** :  Sally suggested that I ask out Sherlock Holmes.

Obviously she is attempting to see me situated because she is abandoning me to move in with Dimmock.  Stupid.  I’ve been on my own for years before her, I have no need for human companionship.

I informed Sally that I have had dinner with Sherlock Holmes on numerous occasions.

Apparently that didn’t count.

Though it would be nice to have someone make me tea on occasion and handle my finances. 

Sherlock does make good tea.  Uses very high quality brand and even uses loose leaf when he has the time.  Left over from his upper class upbringing.

I wonder if I give him access to my banking if he’ll take care of my finances?

 **April 8** : Have decided to ask Sherlock Holmes for dinner.  Should be simple enough to accomplish.  When I informed Sally of my decision she asked me why I was going to do so.

I told her it was because it may lead him to making me tea and taking care of my bills.

Judging by the look on her face, that was not the right answer.  I’ve known that woman for four years and she still manages to confuse me.  She told me to ask him out and now she wants to me to reflect on why I wish to do so.

Confusing woman, that Sally Donovan.

 **April 9:** Saw Sherlock today when assisting Lestrade on assault case. 

Forgot to ask him to dinner.

Next time.

 **April 11:** Sally said I shouldn’t ask Sherlock to dinner because it would lead Sherlock on.

She was never this indecisive before. 

I blame Dimmock.

I told Sally that I am unaware of how dinner would be leading Sherlock on, as I’ve had dinner with plenty of people in the past.

Sally informed that having dinner can have the same connotations of when James Moriarty asked me repeatedly to go with him to  _The Fox_.

I was unaware of this.  Euphemisms are dull.

 **April 13:** Had dinner with Sherlock. He did not show any signs of expecting me to sleep with him.  In fact he seemed a bit annoyed that I was there.  Some woman, Tessa or Carla or Hattie or something like that, was also a bit put out that I was there.

At least Gladstone was happy to see me.  I’ll have to ask Sally about this tomorrow. 

 **April 14:** Asked Sally.  Following conversation occurred:

Me: _He showed no signs of wishing to sleep with me.  In fact, he seemed a little annoyed to be having dinner with me.  Should I have dinner with him again?_

Sally:  _Really?  You asked him to dinner, he accepted, and he sat there unhappy the entire time?  What an arse!_

Me: _Asked? Oh._

Sally: _What did you do this time?_

How did this become my fault?

Me: _I let myself in at Baker Street and had dinner with Sherlock.  Like you told me to do._

Sally: _You just showed up?  I did not tell you to do that!_

Me: _Yes, it’s been a habit of mine since he helped me. This is the first time he wasn’t pleased to see me.  I have an open invitation except he did ask me not to show up on the 15 th._

Sally: _You are aware that yesterday was the 15 th, correct?_

Me: _Of course._

I was not aware that yesterday was the 15th.  I am most annoyed though; it means I’ll have to redo my entries.

Sally: _Oh my God, you crashed his date with Jackie._

Me: _Jackie? Not Tessa?_

Sally: _No._

Me: _Carla?_

Sally: _No, Jackie._

Me: _Hattie?_

Sally: _Her name is Jackie!_

Me: _Who’s Jackie?_

Sally: _The girl Sherlock’s been dating for the past week! Remember?_

Me: _I think it would be safe to say I did not._

Sally: _No wonder he was annoyed.  He probably wanted you out of there so he could get on with his date._

Me: _Is now the time I tell you that she left because I asked her about how her herpes medication was working?_

Sally:  _You did not ask that._

Me: _I did indeed.  I thought it was fair after she asked me what my childhood trauma was.  I informed her about while my mother abandoned me and I had to stay in care until my biological was found was most annoying, I did not find it traumatic.  I thought after sharing something personal about myself it was only fair that she share something about herself. I thought for Sherlock’s sake I would not ask about her fiancé.  Apparently she is not familiar with the idea of reciprocity._

Sally: _Every time I think you can’t surprise me, you do something so different and new._

Me:  _Thank you?  If it helps, I think Sherlock was amused but by that point he had consumed so much beer it could’ve been alcohol induced._

 **April 17:** Sherlock was not amused.  I am forbidden from using the laboratory during his shift for the next week unless Sally or Lestrade are with me.

Also, I am not allowed to come to 221B uninvited.  He couldn’t disinvite me from the whole of 221; Mrs. Hudson adores me.

I was unaware he was so dramatic.

Must be a Holmes trait.

 **April 18:** Sally told me to apologize.

I gave him a bag of his favorite crisps with a note apologizing for the fact that his date was engaged and had herpes.

John found this more entertaining than Sherlock did.  Good man, that Watson.

Sally said I was supposed to apologize for crashing his date.

She should’ve made that clearer.

 **April 19:** Still forbidden from using the lab.

 **April 20:** Still forbidden.

 **April 21:** Snuck in while Sherlock was conducting a post mortem to give him another bag of crisps with a note informing I was unaware that that day was April 15th and that I was not welcome at Baker Street.

According to Rita he gave the crisps to Norris.

I despise Norris.

 **April 22:** Still forbidden from lab.

 **April 23:** Allowed back in lab!

Sherlock has the day off.

I don’t remember him being so sneaky.

He certainly couldn’t manage to hide his collection of pornography from me when I stayed with him.  Maybe he’s learning?

 **April 26:** Distracted by case.  Had takeaway in the lab in dinner with Sherlock after it was over.

Sally tells me this does not count as dinner.

I agree.  I find it insufficient as Sherlock was not paying attention to me and I fell asleep in my Moo Shu Pork.

Moo Shu Pork stains.

 **April 27:** I realized I don’t even like dinner, breakfast is much more satisfying.  Perhaps I’ll ask him to breakfast.

 **Aril 28:** Apparently breakfast also has connotations according to Sally.  I am starting to think that she is just taking the mick out.

Perhaps if I ask Sherlock to have sex with me it will mean that I wish to have dinner with him.

 **April 28: Entry 2:** Apparently asking Sherlock to engage in sex with me means I wish to have Sherlock engage in sex with me.

I am starting to wonder why I wish for human companionship.

 **April 29:** Sally moved out today.

 **April 30:** There is something liberating about walking around in my flat without clothes on and no flatmate to protest.

 **May 1:** It is most inconvenient to go on cases with Sally lives 15 kilometers away.

Went to lab today to work on case while Sally unpacked.  She didn’t take this long to unpack when she lived with me.

Sherlock told a joke to make me feel better.

It was surprisingly amusing.

 **May 2:** Discovered new show today while bored.  It’s called  _Glee._

It’s amazing.

 **May 3:** I’ve seen all of season one of Glee. 

Season two isn’t that great.

I miss Sally.

 **May 4:** Sherlock took pity on me and let me take home an arm.  I asked him if he wanted to have dinner with me.

He said I didn’t need to sweet talk him; he already gave me the arm.

Good thing he said no.  Soon after I realized that I have a  stomachache.

Season two is still horrid. How did this show go so wrong so quickly?

 **May 5:** Told Sally about my stomachache.  She said it wasn’t a stomachache. Apparently stomachaches don’t have sinking feelings.   It was disappointment though possibly guilt.

She did concede that it could have been the three giant Toblerones I ate.

I changed subject by asking Sally if she’s heard of  _Glee._

She asked me if I’ve relapsed.

I’ve been clean for seven years, though the idea of taking some MDMA while watching  _Glee_  has its merits.

Maybe it’ll improve season two.

 **May 6:** Asked Sherlock again if he wished to have dinner.

He gave me a strange look and asked what I want. 

I thought this was a valid question as dinner apparently has many connotations. 

I explained that I wished to share an evening meal with him at the restaurant at his choice, though I made sure to mention which restaurants I was not allowed on the premise anymore and which ones offered me discounts.  I made sure to emphasize that this was dinner and not going to  _The Fox._ Considering the baffled look he gave me, I’m not entirely sure he understood my meaning.  He’s a bright fellow though he’ll cotton on.  I told him that I would pay though I had a feeling he may fight me for it out of a misplaced sense of pride.

I also mentioned that I was not engaged and was clean of any infections that could be transmitted sexually.  I would have said I was clean of all infections but the cut on my left finger looks a little suspicious.

Sherlock said he would think about it.

What is there to think about?

On a positive note, he took care of my cut for me.

He could’ve been a little easier on the hydrogen peroxide though.  In his defense, he did kiss it when I protested.  His ears turn red when I asked him why, as he probably just reintroduced bacteria to the area.  He went on about habit and his mother used to do it but I ignored him, his red ears were much more fascinating.  How have I never noticed that?

I liked it.   Maybe I should embarrass him more often.

 **May 7:** A month after Sally suggested it, I am going to dinner with Sherlock.

 **May 7: Entry 2:**  I forgot I forgot days.  One month and two days then.

I wonder which two days I missed?

 **May 8:** Went to dinner. 

At the end of dinner Sherlock said that this went much better than his last date.

I did not know that this was a date.

I was about to correct him when he kissed me goodnight.

I’ve been kissed twice.  The first was James Moriarty after I broke him out of a drug lord’s private prison in Columbia.  The second was Sherlock Holmes an hour ago.

Perhaps it was because I was not concerned about being shot and Sherlock Holmes did not smell of his own urine but I much preferred his tentative kiss over James’ rough, thankful one. In fact, I preferred it so much that I decided to pull him back for a kiss.  It also stopped him from babbling apologies. 

I made sure not to correct him.  If this was what dates were, they were most acceptable.

 **May 10:**  Stopped by Baker Street uninvited yesterday for the first time since the incident with Joanna (Jessica? Jennifer?)

Gladstone missed me dreadfully.  He jumped on me the moment I entered the room.  I am not fond of dogs but Gladstone is a paragon on his species.  Also, he’s quite willing to eat any food I am not keen on.

Sherlock was much more reserved. After he got over his shock at seeing me, he put the kettle on.  This pleased me. I was sick of making my own tea.

            “I thought I told you not to come over without telling me,” Sherlock said.

            That threw me.  I was not sure how to respond.  I was pretty sure that mentioning the obvious cleaning 221B recently suffered and the fact that he was wearing the shirt I once complimented him indicated he wished me to be here was wrong.  I was tempted to act coy but it would be an act and I found that repellant.  Finally I decided to say nothing and leave.  If he didn’t want me there, I would leave.  I could always buy tea.

            “You’re leaving?”  Sherlock asked as he grabbed my arm.

            “Though other factors would indicate my presence is desirable, by your own admission I am unwanted.  Though people words and actions don’t correspond, I am told I should bow to the verbal communication more than the non verbal communication.”

            “I never said you were unwanted, I said that came over uninvited again.”  He tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear and said, “next time tell me so I can have the tea ready.”

Sherlock steadied me as I wavered.  He grasped my upper arms in concern.  “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

            “I’m fine, I slept on the fourth.  It was only four days ago.”

            Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation.  He turned off the kettle and led me to the couch.  Before I could protest he lay down and pulled me on top of him.  Sherlock is surprisingly muscular and surprisingly comfortable.  “Today’s the ninth, not the eighth.”

            How did I manage to lose another day?

            I humphed.  This was not why I came over to Baker Street. I wanted tea and possibly a few more kisses from Sherlock. 

            I didn’t realize until Sherlock laughed and kissed my crown that I said that out loud.

            It was then I decided a nap wouldn’t hurt. 

            Sherlock said the most peculiar thing to me as I fell asleep.  He said that I shouldn’t worry and that he’ll take care of me.

           Not entirely sure what I am supposed to be worried about, honestly.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one of the night, I think. I hope one or two of them brought a smile to your face.


End file.
